


all of these words building a house in my head

by felicities



Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicities/pseuds/felicities
Summary: A collection of Rosé-centric oneshots, based on fifty one-word prompts, from ‘morning’ to ‘promise’ to ‘soft.’
Relationships: Lalisa Manoban | Lisa/Park Chaeyoung | Rosé
Comments: 13
Kudos: 85





	1. prompt list

  1. [prompt: morning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396994/chapters/66959023) — Rosé finds solace in the recording studio. 
  2. [prompt: safe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396994/chapters/67044427) — Rosé comes home. 
  3. [prompt: touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396994/chapters/67352998) — Rosé and Lisa get close at a nightclub in Bali. 
  4. [prompt: blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396994/chapters/67805098) — Rosé as a maneating courtesan vampire lesbian.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading—hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/lightonmp3) or [tumblr](https://lightonmp3.tumblr.com/) if you are so inclined ✨


	2. prompt list

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosé finds solace in the recording studio.

**prompt: morning **

If Rosé’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t remember exactly when her late nights and early mornings began to bleed into one another. All she knew was that the thoughts running through her head were becoming too unbearable, too stifling. In the past few months, she’d found herself afraid of bedtime, afraid of spending hours tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. She’d longed for sleep, but it would not come, so she sought refuge in what is perhaps the most constant thing in her life: music.

Alone in the recording studio, she feels at peace. For a few blessed hours each day, before the deluge of work, she stops being homesick for her hometown, for her family, for the plainness and simplicity of her life before fame. She tries to remind herself: _This is her dream. This is where she’s always wanted to be_. But there’s a persistent voice in her head that scolds her for conflating her love for music with the arduous tasks and details of being a public figure. Sometimes, she thinks, she could give up what she has just to go back to being a trainee again, to be surrounded by music and music alone, and by people who love music as much as she does.

Rosé yawns, feeling her bones creak and her eyelids weigh heavy. She checks her phone. It’s 5:36 a.m. Outside, she imagines the sky beginning to lighten—a soft hue of lavender fading into a pale orange. She rubs her eyes, feeling sleep finally, blessedly coming to her. She gives herself a moment to rest her tired eyes, her tired body, her tired mind. Just a moment, she tells herself. _Just a moment_. 

—

“Chaeyoung?”

Slipping in and out of consciousness, Rosé feels a soft hand on her face and hears an equally soft voice, one she’s far too familiar with.

“Chaeyoung,” Lisa says again, pressing her nose to Rosé’s cheek. “Wake up.”

Rosé wakes, but keeps her eyes shut. She tries her hardest not to smile, wondering to herself how long she can let this moment last.

“Oh Rosie,” Lisa croons, drawing out the second syllable of her name. “I know you’re awake.”

Rosé’s eyes flutter open, focusing on the girl whose face is awfully close to hers. She jolts backwards, hitting her head on the wall behind her with a loud _thud_.

“Oh no,” Lisa laughs, grabbing Rosé’s head and pulling it close to her chest. “Are you okay?”

Rosé laughs with her as she tries to wiggle her arms to reach the back of her head, rubbing it when she finally does. “What are you doing here so early?”

“It’s almost noon,” Lisa says, sitting next to her. 

“Oops,” Rosé smiles, maneuvering her body to lay her head on Lisa’s lap, watching people begin to fill the once-quiet, once-empty space. Jennie walks in with Jisoo, sunglasses shielding both their eyes. “Hi guys,” they say, before settling into their seats.

Almost automatically, Lisa plays with Rosé’s hair, twirling soft blonde locks in her fingers, and Rosé breathes in the sight before her: Jennie and Jisoo deep in conversation, Teddy twiddling with knobs and faders, the smell of hot coffee permeating the air. Alone in the recording studio, Rosé feels at peace.

But in this moment right here—her head heavy on Lisa’s lap, her friends and coworkers’ laughter mingling with the sound of a newly-mixed song—she feels at home. She remembers why she chose this life; she remembers why enduring the miles between her and her family is a sacrifice she’s willing to make. 

_These girls make this worth it_ , Rosé thinks. She’s lucky to be going through this with them. She looks up at Lisa, her smile as bright and as warm as the morning sun, and repeats the thought turning in her head. 

_Lisa makes this worth it_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _oh, what a beautiful morning_ from _oklahoma!_
> 
> work title from _birds_ by kat cunning


	3. the porch, the bath, the kitchen chair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosé comes home.

** prompt: safe **

She flies to Australia ahead of the girls. 

As she gazes out the window, watching her beloved homeland come into view, she feels her heart start to beat faster. Since moving to South Korea, she hasn’t seen her family for more than a weekend at a time, hasn’t spoken to her friends for more than a couple of hours every few months or so. She looks away from the window and leans back into her seat, pulling out her phone to begin typing. 

_I’m almost home_ , she writes, before pressing send. 

In an instant, her mom replies. _We can’t wait, my love_. 

Rosé smiles, feeling warmth and butterflies in her stomach. “I’m coming home, I’m coming home,” she hums to herself. “Tell the world I’m coming home.” 

—

Before their world tour began, the Australia dates were still wishful thinking, still a quiet ache in her chest. She never thought she’d be brave enough to ask about it, but at one of their tour meetings—at this point it’s all a blur to her now—she gathers the courage to tell her bosses that she’d like to perform back home. She holds her breath, waiting for them to say no. Instead, they look at each other and smile. 

“Of course, Chaeyoung,” they tell her. “That’s a given.” 

Rosé lets out a sigh of relief. 

—

At the airport, she’s welcomed by her mom, dad, and sister, and after a tearful reunion and a lot of laughter on the car ride back to their house, she finds herself in her childhood bedroom. It’s stayed exactly the same, and all her worries melt away. Just after she’d received the news that she’d been accepted as a trainee, she had always feared that her parents will convert her room into some office or gym space or anything to make it look like she’d never even existed the moment she moved away. She didn’t want them to forget about her, and of course she knows memory and time apart don’t work that way, but it still scared her nonetheless. 

She sits on her bed, wraps herself in her favorite childhood blanket—baby pink, _of course_ —and gazes at the photographs on her wall. Her family, her best friends, her churchmates. Her piano recitals, school productions, vacations. The life and people she’d left in pursuit of her dream, in pursuit of her passion, in pursuit of something bigger—something to make her feel whole. She feels the tears start to well up, but she’s promised herself she wouldn’t cry—or at least, she wouldn’t cry as much. A framed photo on her bedside table catches her eye: it’s her and Vanessa, the first friend she made at Canterbury. Rosé tucks the blanket under her chin and smiles at the memory of Vanessa’s laugh, her voice, her hands soft in Rosé’s—all before shrugging off the thought and tucking it away in the dark of her mind, somewhere she rarely ventures into. She settles deeper into her bed, feeling sleep begin to creep in, and for the first time in years, she gives into it without thought. 

Tomorrow, she’s set to go around town for the vlog, and already she’s mentally listing down which places she’s going to return to—her school, the park, the bridge, downtown. It’s work, but to her it doesn’t matter. After all, she’s home.

And she’s safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _to build a home_ from _the bridges of madison county_


	4. i tried your mouth and i can’t come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosé and Lisa get close at a nightclub in Bali.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while writing this, i imagined chaeyoung and lisa to be a little bit older—perhaps in their mid-20s—and looking a little bit [like this](https://www.instagram.com/p/BwlHqvThgzU/), but darker and more glam.

** prompt: touch **

In the dark of the club, the bass booms loudly in her ears. Leading them back to the bar, her heart beating in time with the music, she tightens her grip on Lisa’s hand. She looks back at Lisa, who grabs her arm and stops in the middle of the dance floor—strangers too close, air too thick, brains too intoxicated. 

“Dance with me, Rosie,” Lisa says, her words slurring, pulling Rosé closer to her. She closes the distance between their bodies, their skin sticky of sweat and their breaths smelling like alcohol. “Dance with me, please,” she says again, biting her lower lip.

“I am dancing with you, dummy,” Rosé says, cupping the back of Lisa’s head, her eyes fixated on the lips of the girl in front of her. Lisa’s dark red lipstick is fading away, the glitter on her face shimmering under the party lights bathing their skin, the flower in her hair threatening to fall ever so slightly. Rosé wants so badly to touch—to feel, just for a moment, what it’s like to live. 

So she does.

She slides her hands down Lisa’s body, and Lisa gasps at the contact.

Rosé’s hands settle on Lisa’s waistline, and the two move to the music, feeling their bodies let go and let loose, forgetting who they are, where they are, and what they’re doing. All that matters now is that Rosé’s hands are pulling Lisa _closer and closer and closer_ to her until the space between them becomes nothing more than a distant memory.

Lisa laughs, throwing her head back. Rosé watches the soft ivory of Lisa’s neck as she does, her hands burning. Her eyes travel to Lisa’s face, back to her lips, her hands still firm on Lisa’s waist, her hips, the small of her back. Lost in thought, she bites her lips, eyebrows furrowing, only crashing back down to earth when it’s Lisa who cups the back of her head, pulling her in, _closer and closer and closer_ , until their lips touch. It’s the slowest descent, Rosé thinks, until she can’t anymore, until it’s just heaven on earth.

She feels Lisa’s tongue, soft and warm and perfect, and Rosé can’t think of anything better, of anything softer or warmer or crazier—so she pulls back, bringing her hand to her lips, the feeling of bliss disappearing as quickly as it came. Lisa looks at her, incredulous. Her eyes fall. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“No,” Rosé tells her, suddenly shy. “You don’t have to be sorry. I liked it. I just got scared.”

Lisa looks back at her, smirking. “I liked it, too.” This time, it’s Lisa who takes Rosé’s hand, and she tries to navigate them towards the exit—a difficult task considering her state, Rosé thinks, but she knows better than to stop her. Rosé follows, her hand warm in Lisa’s, as they try to make it out of the mass of partygoers. When they finally emerge out onto the beachfront, Rosé breathes in the air: the salt of the ocean a welcome change, and the cool breeze of the night contrasting with the warmth of her body.

Lisa drops her hand—immediately, Rosé misses the contact, but she watches Lisa almost stumble as she finds a spot by the water. “Come sit by me,” Lisa says, patting the sand next to her. Rosé smiles, walking towards her and sitting pretzel-legged. When she’s close enough, Lisa, whether by habit or by level of intoxication, rests her head on her shoulder, taking her hand again and interlacing their fingers together. “I want to kiss you,” Lisa says, fixing her eyes on Rosé’s lips. “I want to kiss you again.”

“Come here then,” Rosé tells her. The moment it takes for Lisa to close the gap between them is the most agonizing few seconds of her life, Rosé thinks, but her mind shuts off when she feels Lisa’s lips on hers. Rosé lets out a soft whimper, feeling Lisa smile against her mouth. She allows her hands to wander, again: settling on Lisa’s waist, traveling up her spine, cupping the back of her head. Rosé pulls her closer as Lisa brings her arms around her neck, her hands settling at her nape. 

Lisa’s the first one to pull away. “I can’t breathe,” she mutters, resting her forehead on Rosé’s. “You’re so _fucking_ much.”

Rosé smiles, bringing a hand to Lisa’s chin, gently making her look up at her. She gazes into Lisa’s eyes—her intoxication has melted away, it seems, or it’s been replaced by a different kind of drunkenness. She strokes Lisa’s left cheek with the back of her hand, and Lisa’s eyes flutter shut at the touch. “Come back to my room with me,” Lisa tells her. 

Rosé stands up, stretching out a hand for Lisa. When they’re back on their feet, Lisa curls an arm around Rosé’s waist, and they walk in the direction of their hotel. Under the Balinese moon, between the sea and the strip of clubs and bars, and safely ensconced in Lisa’s familiar warmth, Rosé feels her heart begin to race and her hands start to shake in anticipation. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt this way—not at her audition, not during debut, not when she returned to Melbourne to perform. Lisa lets go of her, and suddenly all she wants is to be back in her arms, but Lisa [takes her hand](https://www.instagram.com/p/BxJLO8YBKb0/) and holds it: firm, safe, secure. She looks at Lisa, who’s smiling at her with flushed cheeks, hooded eyes, and smudge lipstick, and Rosé knows she wouldn’t mind feeling this way forever, if she had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _felt this way_ by carly rae jepsen


	5. now that the light is fading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosé as a maneating courtesan vampire lesbian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood, murder, derogatory language

** prompt: blood **

It’s always the same, isn’t?

He’s been waiting for Rosé for months. _Do everything_ , he tells the people who work for him. He sneers at his assistant, just before he screams at her. _Do everything you need to. I need to meet her_.

_There’s an incredibly long waitlist, sir_ , his assistant tells him. The assistant is probably blonde, tanned, leggy; probably asked—no, _demanded_ —to wear something that shows off her tits. _I won’t stand for it_ , he shouts, throwing the closest thing to him—a glass of whiskey—at her. _I need to see her this week_. 

He gets Rosé on the phone. He demands her. His voice is low and throaty, his sentences punctuated by self-assured, arrogant laughter. Like, _You’re going to bend to my will too_. Like, _I can’t wait to see you open up your cunt for me_. Like, _you’re going to be fucking mine soon, you little bitch_. 

They never learn.

When he enters the room, Rosé is illuminated by nothing but moon- and candlelight. From her lips, which are so red they’re almost black, to her nails, a glossy obsidian, everything about her is impossibly dark—a striking contrast from the icy paleness of her skin and her hair. She’s wearing a silk black robe and nothing else; as he approaches, she eyes him contemplatively. She’s been doing this for so long she no longer needs to pretend like she gives a shit. Of course she doesn’t, and of course they like that.

He stands across from Rosé, towering over her. He loves it. He fucking _adores_ it. He’s the man, after all, and she’s nothing more than his little paid-for slut. He loosens his tie.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. She smirks a little.

“Aren’t you going to do something?”

She looks at him, her gaze lingering. “Sit,” Rosé says.

He sits on the jewel-encrusted chair in front of him, rolling up his sleeves. _He looks like an absolute dickwad_ , she thinks to herself, smiling. He smiles back, his smugness dripping off of him. This doesn’t worry her, though. In fact, it pleases her.

She stands up, approaching him. She waves a hand behind her, and slowly, soft notes of music begin to waft in the air. 

She moves slowly to the song, playing with her hair, running her fingers through her tresses. She watches his mouth water. He absolutely fucking wants her.

She rolls her hips, looking at him straight in the eye as she straddles him, feeling him hard through his pants. She continues grinding, rubbing herself on him, swaying to the music. His breath catches in his throat, energizing her. She unbuttons his shirt—slowly, methodically, never taking her eyes off of his. She catches his eyes darting to her lips, and she clicks her tongue. “No, no,” she says, her voice sweet and deep and sugary. “We’ll have none of that.”

He laughs, like he can’t believe _she_ ’s telling _him_ what to do. “Don’t look away,” she says, serious. 

He fixes his eyes on hers. She continues to move. As the music approaches a crescendo, she rubs herself against him, harder and harder and harder, just until he starts getting close. He throws his head back in pleasure, exposing the soft skin of his neck. 

“Perfect,” Rosé thinks. She smiles, softly at first, and then baring her teeth.

She looks at him as his features grow wide and freeze, her teeth latching onto his flesh as he lets out a shout. She brings a hand to his mouth, muffling his screams. She drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks, until she can’t anymore, until she can’t bear it anymore. 

When she comes up for air, there’s blood dripping all over her mouth, her chin. She wipes it on her arm, the liquid transferring onto her skin and smudging her immaculately-applied lipstick. 

“That was fast,” Lisa says, waltzing in, prompted after hearing the scream. She eyes the lifeless body on the chair as she hands Rosé a piece of soft fabric. Rosé runs it over her mouth, her chin, her cheeks, wiping away traces of yet another unfortunate fool.

“It’s getting easier and easier,” Rosé tells her, a mischievous smirk on her face. 

Lisa looks at her. “You missed a spot,” she says. Lisa plants a kiss on her lips, daring to ruin her lipstick even more. 

Rosé kisses her back, soft and wet and wanting, slipping in a tongue to meet Lisa’s. Lisa pulls her closer, her hands settling on the small of Rosé’s back. 

Rosé pulls away begrudgingly, taking Lisa’s hand and leading her out. “Not here,” she tells her. They leave the room, the music slowly fading away. His body lays limp, illuminated by moon and candlelight. 

The housekeeper will deal with it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from _color song_ by maggie rogers
> 
> what the muse wants, the muse gets. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
